The Personalization of Classical Myth in Delmira Agustini
John R. Burt
While critics like Robert Lima (43-47), José Otero (85-87) and Arturo Sergio Visca (128-133) have found the poetry of Delmira Agustini (Uruguay 1890-1914) fascinating for its intense, mystical eroticism and others like Sidonia Carmen Rosenbaum (151) and Orlando Gómez-Gil (483) for her use of the Nietzschean concept of a super race, almost all have ignored her surprisingly original treatment of classical mythology. This despite the fact that Agustini creates a whole new framework of poetry based on personal versions of classical myths, most of which result in an act of self-immolation or transformation.
One may well wonder when and how she came to such a strong interest in mythology. It may be that she chose to incorporate these themes into her personal poetry because mythology played such a key role in her unusual, entirely tutorial education, well documented by Mario Álvarez (8-12) and others. She read myths and stories in her youth which she absorbed so completely that they became internalized and formed such an integral part of her that later as an adult she is able to take them out again and use them consciously or unconsciously as nuclei for many of her poems.
Whatever the original source may have been, in selecting to use classical myths in her poetry, she also continues the tradition of earlier Modernists and their French poet of inspiration, Leconte de Lisle (Henríquez Ureña 92). This tradition often viewed the myths as appropriate allusions which would serve as a commentary on the image or tone conveyed in the poem. The myths were frequently given in the most static mode possible, as Parnassian portraits of paintings. Well-known examples of this type of Parnassian mode in Spanish America include Casal's «Elena» and Darío's «Venus» and «De invierno» (from the 1890 version of Azul).
Developing beyond those Modernist treatments, Agustini employs some of the same classical myths, but she uniquely personalizes them and recreates them from her own perspective using the first person singular as if she were one of the characters. In this personalizing technique she demonstrates a highly original point of view.
The myth of Icarus provides a good first example of the complete pattern and may be observed functioning in «Las alas» (from Cantos de la mañana 68-69). Told in the first person: «Yo tenía... / dos alas!... / Dos alas, / que del Azur vivían como dos siderales / raíces....» The poet's ascent into the heavens, like that of Icarus, is breath-taking and astonishing, and yet at the same time also the defiant flight of a young rebel. The journey has many of the god-like qualities of Icarus' flight and the wings contain almost unimaginable power:
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The poet continues her flight until the «great beyond» bursts open and a new universe is born. On a note unusual for the Icarus myth, the poet loses her wings, not in the heavens as did Icarus, but on the earth while she sleeps. As Luis Alberto Sánchez has noted (138), the poetic treatment of the myth at this point seems «Anti-Ícaro» in the way that the loss occurs safely on the ground and that the poet does not appear particularly devastated by her loss. There is no overt element of danger or mention of a fall -elements central to the original myth, yet even so the association with the Icarus myth remains quite clear. She explains what happened to her wings from her own point of view: «Un día, raramente / desmayada a la tierra, / yo me adormí en las felpas profundas de este bosque.» She dreams only to be awakened by her beloved: «¡Soñé divinas cosas!... / Una sonrisa tuya me despertó, paréceme... / ¡Y no siento mis alas!... ¡¿Mis alas?...» She realizes with a shock that she no longer has her wings, «-Yo las vi deshacerse entre mis brazos... / ¡Era como un deshielo!» The poem ends abruptly with the haunting vision of the thawing of her magnificent wings.
As Icarus took great delight in flying through the sky, so too does the poet take delight in her flights of fancy; as Icarus is brought back to earthly reality by the sun melting the wax of his invented wings, the poet is brought back to reality by her beloved whose smile, with a power akin to that of the shining sun, «thaws» her glorious wings.
In her version of the myth, Agustini has not only chosen to make her feminine persona the central figure of the poem, but she has also refocused the story as well. She tells the story as though about herself and concludes by underlining an important and recurrent aspect of her own personal philosophy wherein the glory and freedom of flight, as rewarding as they may be, are unconsciously sacrificed as an offering to the perfect lover. This perfect lover must have certain very special qualities which are made more explicit in the following poem.
«El cisne» (Los cálices vacíos, 55-57) offers Agustini's version of the myth of Leda and the Swan. As in the Icarus myth the poet narrates the events of this poem as well from her own point of view. This time she plays the role of Leda, an association she makes clear very early:
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The identification with the Leda myth is strongly suggested through the elements of the white wings and beak falling so languidly into her lap. Far from being the unwilling victim Leda was, the poet relishes her role, and caresses the swan lovingly. In offering water to quench his thirst she finds him inflamed with passion. Continuing the metaphor she proffers a more appropriate vessel to quench his special thirst:
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She realizes that her vision has a dream-like quality, and tells us in fact the whole relationship between her and the swan is so intense that it could only be possible through reality heightened by a dream:
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The poet personifies her own passionate involvement «y ahonda tanto en mi carne», and in addition breathes an even more personal identification with the moment by contrasting the white crystaline water, an echo of her fair skin perhaps, with the astonishing crimson of the swan's beak. Despite recognition that it is a dream, she emphasizes her personal involvement and describes the moment when it reaches its peak of passion, «Hunde el pico en mi regazo / y se queda como muerto...»
Using the trappings of the seduction of Leda by the Swan the poet has personalized the well-known story as though it had happened in her own dream. The telling of the story from Leda's point of view is new however, and while she may not have chosen to borrow the myth consciously, it does permit her an excellent opportunity to propound her own philosophy. A suggestion she makes here, and one which is common throughout her work, is that through her exalted lineage (estirpe) she is suited to serve as mother of a new and superior race. Even though this opportunity may require a great personal sacrifice, as Leda gave birth to immortal offspring (Helen and Pollux) so too she feels it is her purpose in this world to create the beginnings of a new race no matter what the cost.
In keeping with this philosophy it could be argued in addition that a whole series of Agustini's poems, «Otra estirpe» (47), «El intruso» (120) and «Amor» (121) show this attitude and all seem to derive at least in part from the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche. As Psyche's nobility and beauty made her suitable only for the gods, so too does the poet feel herself equally endowed. In «Otra estirpe», for example, the parallel between the relationship of the poet and Eros seems very close in language and idea to that of Cupid and Psyche, an association based logically, as may be recalled, on the fact that Cupid in Roman mythology is essentially the same god as Eros of Greek mythology. The poet now calls to Eros, urging him to come visit her (as Psyche may have called to Cupid before one of his many visits):
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Feeling completely at one with the role of Psyche, she calls to her blind lover, describing her charms for him in symbolic, yet graphic terms:
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As Cupid and Psyche enjoyed their relationship for a time before the curiosity of Psyche's envious sisters' caused her to question his appearance (which he had never allowed her to see -coming only by night and disappearing at dawn), so too does the poet relish the joining she imagines, conveyed with terms not unlike those which might have described the monster seen by Psyche's sisters: «Da a las dos sierpes de su abrazo, crueles, / mi gran tallo febril...» The poet does not fear any monster. She luxuriates in the relationship and concludes unashamedly:
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Worthy to give birth to a super race, she is a furrow burning to receive the seed of the god Eros and to bear the offspring of «otra Estirpe sublimemente loca». Her intensity and passion reveal a total personal commitment to this elitist philosophy, very well served by her technique of retelling the classical myths from the inside. In this way, having the stories of gods already established in most readers' minds, and by making clear that she has a personal relationship to them, she establishes not only a personal connection to them but also points the way to an idea very important to her -the idea that she is a virtual goddess, or at least a candidate for becoming the mother of a god.
In the two remaining poems utilizing the Eros theme, the poet continues in much the same vein, portraying herself as totally enraptured with her mysterious lover who continues as evanescent and powerful as before. In «Amor», (121) she reveals that he is a figment of her dreams: «Yo lo soñé impetuoso, formidable y ardiente; / [...] / Luego lo soñé triste, como un gran sol poniente / [...] / Y hoy sueño que es vibrante, y suave, y riente, y triste».
Like Psyche, she is enraptured by a mysterious lover whom she is unable to see, but thanks to her own power of imagination she has made him exactly what she wants. This imaginary god strikes a deep chord of responsiveness in her. In «El intruso» (120) it reaches its culmination in what is undoubtedly one of Agustini's most often cited passages:
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The poet, like Psyche, continues a series of mysterious rendezvous with her unknown lover, whom she now calls «Amor». She responds intuitively to him and becomes complete with him, imitating his moods and loving his touch:
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Whether directly inspired by the legend of Cupid and Psyche or not, the poems «El intruso» and «Amor» reveal an undeniably great yearning for the kind of completness inspired by the myth. Yet even here, her love remains constant and self-sacrificial while at the same time full of inferences of her special nature.
In a different vein, the poem, «Tu boca» (154) also from Los cálices vacíos, contains what appears to be the inspiration of still another classical myth. Agustini narrates the story once more in the first person, «Yo hacía una divina labor, sobre la roca / creciente del Orgullo...» She is forging a magnificently divine creation out of the growing rock of Pride. Tenaciously she continues her work, «... Tenaz como una loca, / seguía mi divina labor sobre la roca»:
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The mouth which has been created by Agustini's spirit itself, «tela donde mi espíritu se fue tramando él mismo», now consumes her: «y yo caigo, sin fin, en el sangriento abismo». When she falls into the bloody abyss, some emotional implications are apparent: the helplessness of the creator faced with a near perfect creation, and the wonderment associated with such an unusual artistic achievement. Even so, these reactions do not lessen the puzzlement of the reader until one realizes that the skeleton of her «plot» may well be the myth of Pygmalion. The poet, like Pygmalion, falls in love with her own creation, a three-dimensional masterpiece of wonderous beauty crafted with very great, pain, a «labor de gloria».
This story too is told from the poet's point of view, as the artist who has seen life breathed into an artistic creation. The final lines convey the key ironic antithesis of the poem wherein it may be seen that the poet has created a «divine», «glorious» labor only to «fall» into the abyss («divina labor... labor de gloria... caigo... en el... abismo»). This antithesis provides an important clue to Agustini's thoughts -the inextricable connection in her mind between soaring in the divine heights and falling back to the reality of the earth, noticed before in «Las alas». She consciously assumed a special divinity with one part of her mind while realizing at the same time with another part of her mind that she was fated to suffer and to fall.
In this poem, as in «Las alas», she willingly sacrifices herself for love. One wonders in this if perhaps she anticipated her own macabre end. In any event, the poetic imagery she selects, especially the antitheses of soaring -falling, divine- human, heaven -abyss suggest a personality struggling to surmount all physical limitations.
The Pygmalion myth which may have inspired «Tu boca» seems to have served also as inspiration for, «Cuentas de mármol» (155), the first poem of the well-known Rosario de Eros. This time, instead of the poet speaking as the creator Pygmalion, the poet's role is that of the creation, Galatea, desirous of union with her creator. Imbued with Neo-Platonic mysticism, her flesh and soul seek to merge into one with her lover in order to create a still greater entity:
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The love she feels is white and cold, but sublimely divine: «-Amor de blanco y frío, / amor de estatuas, lirios, astros, dioses...» She seeks union with her creator, for together, as in the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, they will successfully join and become god-like in their harmony. The poet once again offers herself sacrificially for love. But at the same time it is to be a sacrifice with a purpose -the purpose of creating a god. For Agustini, there can be no greater destiny than that.
In still one more poem, what better way to epitomize her search for her destiny than by discovering echoes of the Greek legend of Prometheus in «Lo inefable» (p. 67) from Cantos de la mañana, one of the most puzzling of her poems. Many of the difficulties associated with it may be illuminated somewhat through recognition of its classical echoes.
The poet, like Prometheus after having given the great gift of fire to mankind, seems to be suffering the martyrdom of a very great, unrevealed thought. Prometheus tied to a mountain in the Caucasus was tortured by Zeus to reveal a great secret which only he knew (containing the revelation that someday a son would be born to Zeus who would dethrone him and drive the gods away from their home on Olympus). The poet describes her martyrdom in terms that may strike one as similar:
The immense suffering she undergoes through her inability to produce the full flower of her thought resembles the pain inflicted on Prometheus to coerce him into revealing his secret.
The true immensity of the poet's thought, however, is propounded hyperbolically: «¿Nunca llevasteis dentro una estrella dormida / que os abrasaba enteros y no daba un fulgor?» A thought as immense as a star consumes her entirely. As Prometheus suffered the torture of being visited daily by an eagle who dined on his blackened liver, so too does the poet suffer horribly:
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As Prometheus never revealed the tragic secret despite his suffering, neither does the poet reveal the immense thought contained painfully inside. Unlike Prometheus, however, she looks to the day when she may see the immensity torn out of her, as though a great flower were miraculously opening:
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In this denouement, she has again effectively personalized a myth and through an act of immolation, she would willingly sacrifice herself to attain her lofty god-like ideal.
In these poems and more, Agustini successfully has reoriented classical myths to make them uniquely her own. In some cases this reorientation has altered the myths so much that it has caused some readers to have missed the source of her inspiration.
We know from Agustini's life that much of what she wrote was entirely the fabric of her imagination. She was more alive in myth and dream than in reality. For this reason then, mythology provided her with a wealth of stories as a child which gave her the structure and organizing principle she needed as a young adult in order to carry out flights of fancy in her poetry.
There, in the rarified atmosphere of the gods, she offers herself freely on the altar of love with the thought that her love and her being were god-like in nature. Because of that rarefied nature, unfortunately, no human male could share it with her, making her destined ultimately to face the other world alone, and that is what makes her act of self-sacrifice so tragic.
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- Álvarez, Mario. Delmira Agustini. Montevideo: Arca Editorial, 1979.
- Gómez-Gil, Orlando. Historia crítica de la literatura hispanoamericana desde los orígenes hasta el momento actual. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1968.
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